


stone knives and bearskins

by schweet_heart



Series: Pornalot Entries 2016 [7]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Camping, Challenge #4: exposed, Community: pornalot, Exhibitionism, Exposure, Jealous!Arthur, M/M, Masturbation, Outdoor Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pornalot, Voyeurism, remix eligible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-13 01:54:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7957840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schweet_heart/pseuds/schweet_heart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being alone in the wilderness with someone who isn't speaking to you is a trying experience, but Merlin has other ways of getting Arthur to talk.</p><p>Written for Pornalot Challenge #4: Exposed, and my trope_bingo square, "huddle for warmth."</p>
            </blockquote>





	stone knives and bearskins

They figure out that they’re lost about three hours in; then it just becomes a matter of deciding whose fault it is.

“You’re the one who said to head east from that last stream,” Arthur says, glaring at Merlin. “I thought you said you knew how to read a map?”

“I thought  _you_  said you knew where we were going!” Merlin snaps back at him, tired and damp and already half covered in muck. Camelot is a big forest, and it might have been beautiful except that it was also full of insects, and mudslides, and sharp sticks, and frankly right now he just wants to go home. “You know we’ll never live it down if we get lost out here.”

Arthur stomps off ahead of him without bothering to answer, and Merlin spares a moment to glare daggers at his back before he heaves up his rucksack and sets off again. He’s pretty sure this isn’t the relaxing wilderness retreat the brochure promised. He wonders if they can get their money back.

 

+

 

That evening, they set up camp by a small lake that isn’t on their map, tucked against the lee of a broad hill and surrounded by close-growing trees. Arthur gets the fire going, still without saying anything, and Merlin unpacks their things and hands him the sausages from the icebox to grill over the flames. 

“At least we don’t have to go without our supper,” Merlin says, trying to lighten the mood, but Arthur just grunts, staring into the fire. Merlin sighs. “Arthur. Are you ever going to talk to me about what’s bothering you, or do we have to resort to pictographs and animal noises to communicate now?”

Arthur’s jaw tightens. “You know exactly what’s bothering me.”

“I know you’re being a total prat,” Merlin says. “But that’s not new.”

Arthur looks away. Merlin picks up a stick and draws an erect penis in the dirt, with an arrow pointing to Arthur.  _You are such a dick._

Arthur snorts, and snatches up his own stick. His drawing is less articulate than Merlin’s, but he’s pretty sure it’s meant to be a child with big ears and a dummy in its mouth.  _Stop being childish,_  Mer _lin_.

It’s not exactly scintillating conversation, Merlin supposes. But it’s a start.

 

+

 

The mountains are cold at night. Even sheltered as they are, the chill creeps in on them, and Merlin huddles closer to Arthur in the tent, forehead pressed against the back of his neck, their sleeping-bag-encased bodies squashed messily together. Arthur sighs and pulls away, curling himself into a ball. Outside, it starts to rain.

In the morning, Merlin lies awake for a long time before he realises the tent is empty, and it’s not until he hears a loud splash that he drags himself out into the crisp morning air. The sky has dawned a cruel, clear blue that arches over the lake to the mountains like a closed mouth, and Arthur is bathing in the shallows — gorgeous and golden and completely naked.

It’s one of those moments, Merlin thinks later, which could’ve gone either way: he could’ve taken one look at Arthur and turned back to the tent to give him some privacy, waited until he was dressed to come out. Instead, he stands and looks, eyes shaded. Arthur glances up at him and stops moving, his cock hung low and vulnerable between his legs, watching Merlin watching him. 

Slowly — challengingly — Merlin spits into one hand and slides it down inside his pyjama pants, freeing his morning erection through the opening in his trousers. He doesn’t look away from Arthur as he does it, tipping his head in a question.  _You up for this?_

He can see Arthur swallow even from this distance. But he nods, not looking away as Merlin begins to pump unhurriedly into his fist. 

It should probably feel strange, Arthur watching him wank in the middle of nowhere like this, and there’s no denying that Merlin feels completely exposed, even though he’s still partially clothed. Instead of being embarrassed, however, he finds he likes the idea of being the centre of Arthur’s attention. He’s sick of the silent treatment, and trying to get the message across in other ways has thus far proven unsuccessful. Sometimes the most primitive forms of communication work the best. 

Closing his eyes, he imagines Arthur’s hand on him, running a thumb over the tip and down the thick vein on the underside. He can feel the pleasure swelling in his gut, a throbbing pulse in his groin to match his heartbeat, and he allows his head to fall back, letting out a groan that he knows must carry across the water. Arthur makes a choked sound. His eyes are wide when Merlin looks at him, fixed on Merlin’s dick, and Merlin speeds up unconsciously, his breath coming fast and hard as he feels the friction building. Moisture leaks from his slit, wet and slick on his fingers. Arthur is visibly aroused now, and Merlin reaches back with one slippery hand, down past the waistband and into the cleft of his ass, picturing that thick, flushed cock teasing at his entrance before it breaches him. His balls tighten immediately, but it’s Arthur’s animal moan which finally tips him over the edge, and he fucks wildly back onto his own fingers as he comes, his shout sending the birds scattering from the trees.

When he can see again, Arthur is right in front of him, his eyes searching Merlin’s face with something like uncertainty even as he reaches for Merlin’s hips.  _Do you want…?_

“Yeah, you idiot,” Merlin says, pulling Arthur in close to kiss his red-bitten lips. Arthur’s palms make wet handprints on his ass even through his pyjama bottoms, but he doesn’t mind. “Of course I do.”

“Just so we’re clear,” Arthur says, dripping lake-water onto his chest as he strips him. “You never did  _this_  with Gwaine, did you?”

Merlin laughs. “No,” he says, “I didn’t.” And he sets about demonstrating a few other important omissions as well, until he’s certain Arthur understands exactly what he means – no words required.


End file.
